Old Faces, New Places
by GoldenRoya
Summary: When she wakes up in the cell, Mary Margaret sees a face she recognizes... but it's not Cora. Now Snow and Emma must seek out a way back home... and hope that they aren't leaving the Enchanted Forest in jeopardy. Meanwhile, a face from the past will follow them wherever they go, with nothing less than True Love at stake. Set after the start of Season 2, though blatantly AU.
1. Old Friends, Old Enemies, New Twist

_Would it sound too weird if I said that I didn't remember what I wrote when I wrote this first chapter? I was falling asleep, but muse wouldn't let me go until I'd gotten this written, so I was sort of sleep-writing when I typed this. On the other hand, doing that means that I get to enjoy being a reader, rather than the writer, some several days after the fact. Didn't even remember I'd written it, honestly... well, there's a reason I keep a computer in my room. _

_So... Yeah. I'd meant this as a one-shot, but there was so much interest in ongoing chapters that the muse kept turning over ideas and handing them to me...and what can a poor writer do but knuckle under and take what's given her? Robin Hood demanded an appearance, the Red Shoes danced through my head, and other means of portal-jumping fairly leaped off the page... It's gonna be an interesting adventure, I think.  
_

_I don't own OUaT, but I wish I did - then I'd know what the heck happens next!_

* * *

"Maybe I can help you," the woman declared, coming out of the shadows of the pit. "My name is Cora."

Emma shook out of her bonds, pulling herself to stand. "Great," said Emma, wearily. "And who are you? her voice was mournfully curious, along the tones of _NOW what do I have to deal with?_

"I'm Cora," she repeated, standing fully in the light that was let into the cell. An older woman, surely a beauty in her younger days, but there was an indefinable air about her, one that only the royals carry, rank and privilege gone subcellular.

"I was a queen," Cora said, simply. "Now I am a refugee, like you."

"A refugee in a cage," snapped Emma.

"Mistaken identity," she passed the comment off with a wave. "I think I can help your friend." Cora had knelt by Mary Margaret before Emma could correct her - _not friend, mother, not friend, mother, not mother, friend...wait, that was backwards..._

"My dear?" asked Cora, gently raising her eyelid and using her ring to refract light into Mary Margaret's eye. The dark haired woman flinched, and Cora nodded in satisfaction. "No head wound, and she's breathing. My dear, can you move your fingers and toes? Legs and arms? Does it hurt when you do move?"

Mary Margaret considered the question carefully. "...No..No, I don't think so."

"Good. No immediate danger then," Cora said. "Sit up, you'll be fine."

"Oi! Cora!" came a voice from outside. "Dinner!"

The mocking voice was answered by one somewhat closer. "Oh be quiet, Gus!", he yelled. "We can't let her starve."

"She murdered you, you idiot! Or don't you remember that part? "

Emma looked at their cell mate with a raised-eyebrow look of assessment, but Cora merely waved it away. "No, just transported."

"You tried to kill me, though," said the handsome young man as he approached the door. His face wrapped in shadows by the tunnel. "Didn't manage it; it was only a banishment instead, to a land beyond her powers. And then, who should arrive not a few months later but my dear Cora, wrapped in chains of glass and ready to serve."

The older woman's face twisted in anger. "I will never serve _you,_" she spat, but Daniel wiped the phlegm from his cheek with a cheerful grin. _She's nuts," he seemed to say, but isn't it tragic? We must humor her, she's losing her mind after all. And it's nothing more than I'm used to taking._

"So," he turned to the new women. "What brought you two in? Dressed a bit oddly, aren't you?"

Emma took point on the conversation; Mary Margaret had been staring at Cora since the woman had first emerged into the light, with the abstracted air of one trying desperately to recover a memory. ""We came from...another land," Emma explained. "By magic. The wraith wanted Regina, but I'd promised Henry that I would keep her safe. I pushed Regina aside, but the wraith got me instead. And my... my best friend jumped in after me, I guess. That's how we came here, through a portal." She wasn't making sense, she knew she wasn't, and she tried to back up, to explain, but she never got the chance.

Daniel's eyes went round. "Regina and Henry?" he demanded, grabbing the bars on the door. "Regina and Henry? How do you know them?" Cora, Emma noticed, was intensely interested. Emma explained, "Regina is the mayor... the former wicked queen. Henry is her...adoptive...son."

"Named for her father, no doubt," said Cora, sourly.

But Daniel's eyes were on Mary Margaret, doing the same age-adjusting calculations that had been so common in Storybrooke for the last day or two. . "...Snow?" he finally managed in a strangled voice. "Princess Snow?"

Mary Margaret's eyes darted over to him, and her eyes flew open. "Daniel!" she exclaimed. "You're not dead!" Her initial surge forward was arrested by a thought. "Oh. Oh, Regina's going to be so pissed. All that revenge... for nothing. "

The guard at the cell door was straining in, reaching for Snow's hand. "Snow! You know her! Tell me... how is she? What happened to her? "

Emma tapped the bars. "Well, come in and sit down, it's going be a loooong story."

* * *

What seemed an entire season later...

Mary Margaret wrapped up their story. Daniel was floored. "And all that... because she was hurt? Because I wasn't there... Aw, damn, 'Gina... I have to go to her. I have to find her again." He stared up at the stone ceiling, as if it might be concealing a doorway home among the stalactites.

The look on his face angered Emma. She demanded, "You still love her? No matter what she did?"

"Of course," said Daniel, conviction in his voice. "She turned bitter. Bitter can be turned back. She just needs to remember who she was before. And I can teach her. I _will_ teach her, if it's the last thing I do. My Regina wasn't like that. I know that delicate girl I loved so much is still there. I will find her again."

"So... how do we get back?"

Emma winced. "That's... gonna be a bit more complicated..."


	2. On the Road Again

_Okay. Blatantly AU, though I'll probably be borrowing somewhat from the show as it progresses, inspiration being what it is. For one thing, Lancelot is still Lancelot, and not Cora in disguise. Thanks OUaT, I'm really glad that one of my favorite characters from Arthurian legend turns out to be a meat suit for a witch... Yeah, not bitter at all. _

_Thanks to my reviewers who asked for more, and to all of you who 'story alert'ed me! I'd thought I was done, but, well, apparently not. _:)

* * *

Daniel spoke to the leader of the Resistance and secured Emma and Snow's release... with rather more alacrity than he'd been anticipating. Lancelot rushed down to the prison himself, keys in hand, when he heard who it was that they'd been 'entertaining' there.

Snow and Lance shared an almighty hug as soon as those pesky bars were out of the way, Cora standing by with a sour look on her face, Emma with a rather more baffled one on hers. The former knight escorted mother and daughter out into the sunshine, Daniel following behind. Lancelot immediately invited them to share a meal, and he and Snow spoke about old times, laughing about nothing in particular, sharing the smiles and grins of old friends newly reunited.

Emma shifted uncomfortably in her seat several times throughout, playing with the simple fare and staring at the dark-haired woman she'd thought she'd known. Mary Margaret was no stranger to her. God knew, she'd seen her best friend in the good times, held her hand through the bad times, and stood by her side in the worst times. Princess Snow White, on the other hand... This woman was utterly alien. The cutlery and cuisine that Emma struggled with, Snow White handled as if she had done so all her life. The sights that were foreign to the American-raised girl - the horses, the houses made of logs, the cook fire, for crying out loud - didn't faze Snow a bit. Emma surreptitiously scraped her shoe against the leg of her home made chair, trying to remove a few of the road apples that Snow avoided with seeming obliviousness. The sooner they could get home, the better.

And yet... this should have _been_ her home, she reflected. If not for the curse. If things had worked out differently... might she draw and fire a bow as easily as she could draw and fire her gun? Would riding a horse come as easily as driving a car? She stared meditatively at her hand. She'd felt something pass between her and Regina, in those moments before the portal opened up - like an electric jolt, but with more... glow... to it. It was hard to describe, even to herself. Something had happened, something that had felt right, like climbing back on a bike after years of not riding, only to realize that you not only still knew how, but could still do all the tricks you used to do. It almost felt like a spark of... home.

"...right Emma?" Mary Margaret asked, eyes bright.

Shocked out of her reverie, Emma sat up straighter, desperately playing back in her head the last part of the conversation she'd largely been ignoring. Something about portals and... "Yeah," she said. "We need to get home. I left Henry back there, and Dav... uh, Charming."

"Henry?" asked Lancelot, curiously, and Emma replied, "My son."

The knight nodded gravely. "You must certainly be reunited with your loved ones. But, Snow, I really wish you would stay here. We need you."

Snow laid her hand on his forearm, her green eyes wide with regret. "You're doing fine here, Lance," she said. "You don't need me - and I'm _years_ out of practice with being a royal, or any kind of leader. Your people know you and respect you. They'd follow you anywhere."

But Lancelot was already shaking his head. "I lead by virtue of my training. You could lead by virtue of blood. They may follow me, but they would _die_ for you."

Snow's eyes blazed. "I don't _want_ anybody to die for me. I want my husband, and my daughter, and my grandson. I want us all to be safe, and together, and happy. I'm _done_ fighting for anything but that." But Emma saw an echo in her face, and knew that her mother was torn. _She really is a princess,_ Emma thought, _whether she believes it or not._

"Then I'll help you find your way," said the knight, reluctantly. "Have you any idea how you might get back?"

And so Snow recounted the tale of the wardrobe, how she had given birth and sent minutes-old Emma through it. Emma had read the story in Henry's book, of course, but not well - it had been a fairy tale, not relevant to _her_, and then she'd burned the final pages. Somehow, hearing her mother describe the event, made it more _real_. This was her story too, now.

"If that wardrobe still exists," finished Snow, "we might be able to get enough magic together to recharge it. It could send us back to Storybrooke."

Lancelot sighed heavily. "If that's what you want. It's dangerous out there, though - I would want to send you with a protection detail." Snow tried to protest that she didn't _need_ any protection, she was fully capable of looking after herself, but the knight overrode her. "You're years out of practice with being a royal," he echoed back at her, "And you're years more out of practice with being a bandit. You'll take the guards - I'll not have you dying for nothing in the wilderness."

Snow was inclined to grumble, but acknowledged that he had a point. Lancelot assigned two men to go with them, along with Mulan. Daniel attached himself to the group somehow - Emma wasn't sure how, but he was there and no one was saying anything. He had his own pack, at least, so at the very least he wouldn't be a burden on their supplies. Emma shouldered her own pack; a gift from one of the women of the camp. Snow had taken the time to change from her Storybrooke clothing into the leather, furs, and homespun that seemed the only clothing choices around here, though Emma suspected that her old clothes were tucked among the bags somewhere. She trusted that Mary Margaret wouldn't want to materialize in the center of town, or wherever, dressed like a... uh... a native? That was a weird thought.

It wasn't until they reached the border of the camp that Snow seemed to realize that Lancelot wasn't coming. She turned to her old friend to protest, but Lancelot anticipated her words. "I can't leave, Snow," he told her. "I'm needed here. God knows I want to go with you, but I learned once, the hard way, that duty has to come before heart."

The look he gave her made it clear that the barbed words were intentional, but Mary Margaret shook them off. "I'll come back, Lance," she told him. "Once I know my family is safe."

He regarded her sadly. "I'm sure you'll try," he replied. Then he swept her up in a brief hug, whispered something in her ear, and sent the little group of six off with a wave and a call of, "Good luck!"

Emma quashed the little voice inside her that hoped that she would never see the man again. It wasn't worthy of her. But... she desperately wanted the wardrobe to work. _Henry, Henry, Henry..._


End file.
